


Small Favours

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2011-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singer owes John Winchester a favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Favours

Bobby Singer has known John Winchester about three solid months; and known _of_ John Winchester for about a month beyond that; and owed John Winchester a favour for exactly two weeks to the day that he gets the call.

“I need you to pick something up for me.” John sounds ragged on the other end of the line, like he’s talking through a mouth full of loose teeth. “Circle, Montana; the Bluebird Motel, room 106. Remember Scooby-Doo.”

Before Bobby can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, John’s gone, leaving Bobby with dead air and the distinct sensation that he’s going to regret ever knowing John Winchester for even a second.

The Bluebird Motel is the very definition of a dive – all baby-blue stucco and a road-sign thick with years of grime and with only half the letters lit up. Bobby suspects the orange glow of the vacancy sign is a permanent fixture. He knocks on the door to room 106, waits, knocks again, and is just starting to think about getting his picks from the glove-box when the door opens and he finds himself staring down the business end of a shotgun that’s got to be taller from the butt of the stock to the tip of the barrel than the kid who’s holding it.

“Who the hell are you?” The kid demands, cocking the shotgun deliberately – and Bobby has seen a lot of things that would curl a sane man’s hair, but he’s left so completely shocked somehow by this that the first thing that spills out of his slack jaw is:

“Where the hell’re your manners, boy?”

The kid blinks, but his aim doesn’t waiver as he says, “Who the hell are you – sir?” heavy on the sarcasm.

“I’m Bobby Singer. I assume your daddy told you I was coming.” God, he hopes so, or else he’s going to get a face full of buckshot from an eight year old. There’s no doubt in the way the kid looks at him that he’s fired that gun before; he’s even got the stance to compensate for the massive kick of the recoil.

“How do I know you’re really him?”

Bobby’s survival instinct kicks him, hard, “You like Scooby-Doo, son?”

The kid visibly relaxes, all his tension escaping like air coming out of a balloon. He sets the shotgun up next to the door and steps back to let Bobby into the room, calling, “You can come out now, it’s okay,” Over his shoulder.

Another boy appears from the space between the two queen beds, like a little rabbit popping out of a hole. He’s maybe half the age of the little junior soldier and he peers warily up at Bobby from under a mop of dark hair as he tangles a fist in the hem of his brother’s shirt.

Jesus, Bobby thinks, if this is really his pickup then John Winchester owes him double.

“What’re your names?”

“I’m Dean,” the older one answers, easy, though there’s still an edge to his voice that makes Bobby think he won’t hesitate to fight like a wild dog if Bobby makes the wrong move. “This is Sammy.”

“Sam,” the little one corrects. He’s got a fist balled up against his chin like he wants to suck his thumb more than breathing, but is working _so hard_ not to; like his body ought to shake with the effort of denying himself. They’ve got the rangy toughness that nomadic living gives, in their sun-touched skin and poorly-fitting clothes – Dean’s jeans are an inch too short in the legs, Sam’s at least two inches too long, rolled up high and sagging off his hips – looking at them standing in the middle of that dingy hotel room together, bound by fists and shirts, Dean all freckles and hard looks, Sam with his baby-soft cheeks and enormous green eyes, Bobby realizes between one breath and the next that it’s going to be hard as hell to let them go once he gets them home.

These boys, he thinks, are going to break his heart.

-End-


End file.
